June 2008

I know that Robbie is still reading what I post here, because the other night he brought up tit-fucking. He once told me that it never particularly interested him, but I supposed something I wrote, said, or wore managed to attract his attention.

So when he mentioned it as we were lying in bed a few nights ago, I didn’t waste a lot of time responding. “When you were titty-fucked in the past,” he whispered, heavily, “did you lick up the cum or rub it in?”

“Lick it up,” I promptly answered.

“Good girl,” he purred, and straddled my chest.

I covered his cock and my chest with a liberal coating of saliva; I pushed my breasts up and over his body as he fucked my cleavage. It was interesting (and far more submissive) trying to figure out how to correctly control my boob-pressure to provide a good experience for him, rather than having him moosh my chest himself. And when he came I did, as promised, lick up every available, sweet-tasting drop. (Robbie smells and tastes better than any man I have ever met.)

Today, in a fit of non-submissive pique, I picked a fight with him about how I haven’t felt I’ve been getting the kind of sexual attention I want lately. After he managed to dial my nasty temper back from a flame to a small sizzle, he said, mostly (?) jokingly, “Anyway, I don’t know what you’re so upset about. You got tit-fucked the other night; you should be glad!”

He was right about that. I did indeed get very lucky.

Breasts from Shay‘s collection of hentai an’ stuff.

I have been feeling profoundly dismal lately—partly because of PMS, and also because of things that are happening here. The “new things” I so delicately alluded to a couple of posts ago have, in fact, been further experiments in sex with other people. In my view, our difficulty in reaching a kind of common understanding or agreement about how to handle “the others stuff” is one of our biggest obstacles and among our largest sources of conflict. (His view, I think, is that our D/s dynamic is the “problem”, if there is one, in our sex life, and maybe between us in general.)

Whatever the reality, the last couple of weeks have been alternately wondrous and gloomy, with the gloom increasing steadily increasing, along with the amount of water I seem to be retaining. And still, last night as bedtime approached, my hormone-infused body eyed his opportunistically. Since nothing of note resulted, I am posting something I came across while cleaning out my desk–a fantasy from a few months ago that I apparently wrote down as soon as it occurred to me. (Actually, just after masturbating I wrote down my fantasies, which is why they’re not particularly coherent.)

Coincidentally (or not), persephone just posted about a real-life orgasm-predicament her owner recently placed her in. It seems to have worked on her.

* * *

I imagined, as I had the last time I’d been with Robbie, one of his fantasies just as he described it—I imagined him having me masturbate in front of a group of men. I imagined how I would feel with them staring at me. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to get aroused, certain I wouldn’t be able to turn myself on with a bunch of guys just sitting silently and looking at me.

But if he started talking to me, I thought, that would be a different matter. Ninety percent of the time the things that come out of his mouth inflame me. I thought of being on the long plateau where orgasm seems neither near nor far, and the thought of him turned the heat on under my imagination.

“Come on, cunt,” I imagined him saying, just the way he says it when we’re together. “Come on, come for me.” After working incredibly well for a few weeks, this actually has stopped working altogether; resisting his imagined comment, I actually shook my head, and the imaginary me did the same.

“No?” my fantasy-Robbie said. “I tell you what. You get until the count of ten to get whatever pleasure you can, because after that we’re just going to use you. You understand me?” he said, menacingly, getting up in my face, a fierce, twisted look on his. “And there will be none of this “red light”-“yellow light” crap, no ouch, no tears, or at least, it won’t matter if there are, because it just won’t make a difference.”

At this I got so excited I could feel myself start to gush. “Yeah, that’s right. You come now. And then we’re going to take turns fucking that cunt. Get it over with, get out of the way.” By this time I was plunging my hands through my folds in a way I know brings on violent orgasms, but in my mind he was the one with his fingers up inside me. “You cunt, come for me now!” I did while my mind spun out the rest of the fantasy in the endless freefall of climax: him grabbing me and flipping me over onto a horse and fucking me a bit to open me up while he hauled my head back by my hair so one of his guests could plunge himself all the way down my throat; him stepping aside to watch as the other me fucking me in turn, wherever they wanted to; and finally taking me himself, the last one, the first one, my only one, the one who owns me.

And the best, and worst part, was knowing all along that I’d have to, want to, thrill to tell him how crazily excited I got and how he is, I know he is, right when he says that given time he will get everything he wants from me.

First image by WinterWolf Studios, which I discovered thanks to Sexoteric. Second image by the tremendously imaginative Eugenio Recueno.

Robbie is not the blogophile I am, probably because he has other things to do with his life. At one point he banned sentences that began “I was reading in this blog that . . . “–it’s hard enough for us to talk briefly and clearly about what we want, never mind including what he calls “the footnotes” about other peoples’ thoughts and desires.

He will patiently read articles I send him from the Times about new methods of rice farming, or a Control Tower column on polyamory, or a Fleshbot piece on how hardcore porn stars are, really. But it’s better if I can digest the stuff and talk about it myself.

Or in this case, post about it. I was reading in this blog that . . .

That at Alison Tyler’s house, there’s an understanding. As she puts it “when my clothes spring leaks—when the fishnets rip, when the t-shirts start to fray—they become fair game. In a word: shredable.” These cords were apparently the latest casualty of The Rule.

Robbie has threatened to rip, cut, or shear my clothes off dozens of times. We’ve even bought a few dirt-cheap tops for the purpose–but then we both end up liking the way the shoddy fabric is pretty much see-through.

So, my dear, if you happen to be reading this blog . . . what do you think? I have a pair of jeans that are just ripe for ripping, and you know those stockings we’ve been hoarding for occasions when you might want me to crawl? Those are definitely shredable, too.

Alison Tyler’s actual cords, and “Portrait of Stoya”, by the incredible Nikola Tamindzic.

I took a minute to shuffle some of the links under “visual bliss” at the bottom of my blogroll–and I added, among other things, modfetish, which was the source of the Deseo “samurai girl” illustration below.

We’re trying some new things around here too . . . and seeing how they go. A change of pace can be a good thing, I keep repeating to myself.

By the way, Deseo sells cute and curvy tank tops, for those of you looking for new things to add to your summer wardrobes, as well as half-a-dozen prints (including this pouty little samurai).

I found this quiz over at Devastating Yet Inconsequential. I actually find the OK Cupid quizzes incredibly fun–and thought provoking, which is slightly unsettling to me. A dating website that makes me think? Harrumph.


You scored 71 imagination, 83 confidence, 46 dominance, and 88 generosity!

You are a KINKY, CONFIDENT, SUBMISSIVE lover who prefers to GIVE. This means that: You like relatively kinky sex, and you have the great imagination that will always keep your partner guessing and excited! There’s no getting bored with you around, you could never settle for dull sex, you want something fun and new all the time. You aren’t afraid to try out anything you hear about. You might just be an intelligent lover who needs to be mentally engaged, or perhaps you have some dirty dark secret kinky desires, but either way, you’re never boring. You are pretty confident in bed. This means that you know you can please your lover. Maybe you’ve read a lot of sex manuals {I’m a frickin’ librarian of sex manuals} or have the experience from previous lovers, or just tend to be skilled at whatever you get your hands on {oh, well, y’know . . . *blush*} , but you’re good and you know it. You can really get results and know that you have pure talent, so you won’t be hiding away shy, pretending to be all innocent. Your partners love your naughty self assurance, you don’t hesitate and this makes you a sensational lover. You tend {tend?} to be submissive in bed, so you prefer to go along with what your lover likes rather than your own plans. You might like being ordered around and acting out a slave/master fantasy {not like; love}, or perhaps you just get turned on by being helpless and unable to move {yes, yes, all of the above}. Or maybe it’s as simple as you lacking courage so prefering firm instructions in bed to make sure you are doing things right. Either way, you won’t be dominating your lover anytime soon, and might prefer the missionary position to any others. You prefer to give than recieve. This makes you a very unselfish lover, devoted to the needs of your partner rather than your own. You get your pleasure from seeing them get theirs, you are a model sex partner. {They haven’t talked to Robbie, clearly.} I’m sure plenty of people would love to have someone like you in bed with them! Remember though that if your partner gets pleasure from returning the favour it’s okay to let them, they might love giving as much as you do!

WE SUGGEST YOU: Get crazy with the kissing. It sounds basic, but perhaps with all your wonderful kinky antics and games, you have forgotten how good it can feel just to kiss someone all over, and have the same done to you! Practise with different kissing styles, kiss your lover in places you’ve never kissed them before. Kiss to tickle, kiss to seduce, kiss for hours, or kiss when you know you can’t go any furthur with it, like when you have to be at work soon. Rediscover kissing. {Unnecessary advice, but thanks!}

I am hardly the first person to object to Google’s Blogger: Content Warning messages. But today it occurred to me to wonder who precisely makes it his or her business to spend time objecting to “objectionable” blogs.

Though lots of my favorite blogs have content warning labels, I started thinking about this particular question on this particular day because Shay’s The S Spot just got slapped with that trademark orange-and-blue alert. The S Spot has a ton of patient, down-to-earth advice, easy-to-read reviews, and just general open sexy and fun humor. Shay doesn’t write about torture, breathplay, and blood (not that there’s anything wrong with that)–she really is, as she puts it, Your Friendly Neighborhood Sex Columnist.

Shay understandingly writes that “it is somewhat flattering to be recognised for posting adult material”. I’m certainly quite happy that people have noticed that I have a little adult material here as well; it’s evidence that people who surf the internet are still literate. But I still don’t really understand people who feel it is their job to report adult bloggers to the principal.

So who are these folks? I had no idea the answer was either “the blog author” or “who the fuck knows“. Am I the last person on the planet to learn this? (Viviane or violet, surely, would have been among the first.)

Image from Strange Eros . . . still at large.

Lately I’ve been thinking about stealth kinks: those things you didn’t even know you liked, and thought you probably hated, until you tried them. After which they entered your Pantheon of Favorite Fetishes.

sub lyn recently posted about how she started to enjoy one of my preferred predilections, the euphemistically-named “watersports“. (I hate most names for it. When I was 13 I first heard the phrase “golden shower” on a playground from some 14-year-old boys. I asked the most debauched peers I knew for a definition, which was not forthcoming. Finally a couple of liberated parents among our set disclosed the answer to a sleepover party full of curious girls, but added that in future, we should ask our own parents. Phwa–as if! Part of the fun was in figuring out what a naughty word meant via unsanctioned means.

“Watersports” also confused me when I first heard the term, years ago–I thought it meant waterpolo and synchronized swimming.)

* * *

Piss-play would not have been high on my list of desires when I met Robbie. Neither would spanking, nipple clamps, flogging, face-fucking, knife-play, or a variety of other things we do and love. Basically, the two of us knew we were into bondage from the get-go, and we got more gritty from there.

But I have had the benefit of other lovers in the past with some of their own kinks, and these I remember with fondness, knowing that although the same lures are not likely to crop up tomorrow with Robbie, they could be a part of future play. Tit-fucking, for instance–a favorite. Hand-jobs–not a favorite, but something I did adequately and now have, I fear, lost the knack for. And then a category of more unusual, one-off kinds of fetishry.

Packing my underwear last week to get ready to head to Robbie’s for the summer, I found a beautiful navy blue silk bra, unfortunately (or fortunately?) now much too small for me.

I didn’t know I still had it. The panties to that bra, long lost, were the sole item of clothing ever to have had a role in my enjoyment of sexualized, fetishized transvestism. (And if that phrasing isn’t more uptight than “watersports”, I don’t know what is.)

One evening, after an old boyfriend and I had gotten naked, if I recall correctly, but before I started blowing him in front of his bedroom mirror, he surprised me by picking up the silk panties in question and donning them. Then he posed, swinging his hips first one way, then the other; flexing in front of the mirror; making faces that looked as if he were waiting in line at the bank (innocent and bored expressions were ones he found particularly amusing). I laughed–and more, I was turned on. Part of it, I think, was that he was wearing my panties. Part of it was undoubtedly that he was wearing panties. But part of it was that he was uninhibited enough to think of such a thing, and then try it, and laugh, and fuck me silly afterwards.

Discovering these little pockets of guiltless pleasures, these areas where my Puritanical limits aren’t on patrol, is joyous. I know some submissives love discovering these areas because their Doms are pleased at having pushed their limits, but as far as I’m concerned, to me it’s a victory no matter which of us stubles upon a new, mutually delectable perversion.

But enough about me. Tell me, please–tell me about your stealth kinks. What has, to your surprise, turned you on and on?

Water woman from RopeRookie, thanks to fluffy Lychees. Blue woman by the haunting Carla van de Puttelaar.

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